There Goes the Groom
by white maiden
Summary: In about five minutes this sham of a wedding would be over with, and I could return to chaos that was ever present in my life. Now, all I had to do was to tell the groom.


I've been told that not many people can pull off the jilted bride left standing.

In about five minutes this sham of a wedding would be over with, and I could return to chaos that was ever present in my life. Now, all I had to do was to tell the groom.

The door creaked as I pushed against it softly, only to find Oliver seated on the couch in the small dressing room. His arm was propped on his knee, his chin in the palm of his hand. His brow was creased with some unreadable emotion, but at the sound of my footsteps into the room, he glanced up and beamed at me, a warm comforting smile that only reassured me that I was doing the right thing.

"Hello you," he smiled. He looked handsome in his tux, although both of us knew he was itching to get into a pair of jeans and away from here.

"Hello," I replied.

"You look fine," he grinned, noticing my conspiratorial smile.

"I feel fine," I laughed. We had greeted each other with these lines from my favorite movie since I dragged him to a special showing of it on what would be our first date.

He stood and walked towards me, as I pushed the door closed behind him. He hugged me tightly, then released me to admire my ornate bridal décor.

"That's a good look for you," Oliver said softly, fingering the soft lace of my empire-waisted wedding gown. I shrugged casually.

"Yes well, it won't last. You know always a bridesmaid, never a bride," I replied coyly.

"Nonsense, you'll be a bride at least for the next ten minutes," he chuckled, as he glanced as his watch. It was true. It was our wedding day, and beyond the door sat about three hundred guests waiting for the nervous groom to take his place at the head of aisle and be joined in holy matrimony with his glowing bride. Too bad neither the bride nor the groom had the intention of seeing the wedding through.

"Unless we can hail another taxi before then," I smiled triumphantly. I had been so sure that this wedding wasn't going to happen, that as I arrived at the church, I borrowed a muggle relative's mobile phone and called a cab service, in case we couldn't hail one at the appropriate time.

"I can't believe you called a taxi," he laughed in disbelief, as he stood and leaned against the window, his hands thrust deep in his pockets in that disarming boyish way that I had found so charming, I had convinced myself that I was in love with him.

"I can't believe you considered dumping me at the altar," I joked easily. Oliver's laughter filled the room and the happiness that radiated from him made me wonder how I could've let this engagement get this far.

It was quite easy pretending we were in love. We had always been so close to each other, it was hard to see where the lines of romantic love and everlasting friendship were drawn. Besides, I was always the girl who wanted to marry her best friend. In this case, the best friend had fallen in love with someone else. I wasn't resentful at all, because somewhere along the line I had fallen out of love with him, if it was indeed love in the first place. Sure he had been the first one at my bedside during my mishap with the cursed necklace courtesy of one Malfoy twat (damn my girlish affection for jewelry), but he always had been.

Now the idea of marrying him seemed as wrong as marrying a sibling or blood relation. It was laughable really. So here I was, sitting in the wedding dress I had agonized over for months (after countless fittings and diets that compromised my physical and mental health), with so many hairpins in my head, I starting to question whether I was getting adequate circulation in my brain. Somehow, despite the perfect gloss of my fingernails and the pounds of makeup caked onto my face, I was only excited about getting out of this church and back into a pair of jeans, only after I relinquish my role as fiancée and succeed in my position as matchmaker.

"Do you remember the day I asked you to marry me?" Oliver asked quietly, interrupting my train of thought, which had currently turned to the massive amounts of food I planned to consume after months of careful weight-watching. I began to laugh as the memories resurfaced.

"Which time?" I snickered as Oliver began to blush furiously. "The first time?" I needled.

"I was drunk the first time I proposed, wasn't I?" he asked, hanging his head in shame. I laughed even louder at the memory of the experience.

"You got down one knee and slurred the most eloquent proposal ever uttered in that pub."

"The second time was better. At least I was sober," he corrected. "I even had a ring."

"First of all, only partially sober. Second of all, it was a plastic ring you nicked off some little hipster girl. Thirdly, shouting 'Oy, Marry me,' over a crowd of screaming fans at a rock concert does not constitute as a proper proposal," I chided him. He laughed softly in response.

"I suppose you're right. Takes the romance out of the moment when you're trying to make your way away from the people diving into the crowd."

He paused for a moment. "The third time was better," I assured him.

"Asking for your father's blessing at Christmas supper?"

"Yes. That was romantic. Important that it was a blessing and not permission. That would be disgustingly patriarchal," I joked.

"Ha." Oliver sighed nervously, completely ignoring the vaguely feminist statement. Ordinarily he would have teased me endlessly for that, however, today was not an ordinary day. Ordinary days did not include leaving your fiancée at the altar in pursuit of another woman, with or without the blessing of the dumped fiancée. There was an awkward silence, before he smiled and said, "I suppose I wasted my good romantic idea on you."

"Ouch."

"Joke. Besides, you're the one helping me make one very grand gesture."

"Aphrodite would be proud."

A knock interrupted the moment, and Angelina entered hesitantly. "If you two are sure you're calling this off, you might want to step outside and decide what your next step is. I can talk to the guests if you'd like."

Oliver smiled gratefully, as the three of us stepped outside the church to discuss our plan of action.

"So now what?" Oliver asked, once outside.

"Well, we stand here and wait for a taxi to drive by and stop it, or wait for the one I called earlier to arrive."

"No, I mean, what do we do?"

"I suppose you'll drive off into the sunset, arrive at Heathrow, dodge security checkpoints or bribe someone, run frantically through the airport, find Jocelyn and tell you love her and want to spend the rest of your life with her. Remember to mention that you both have my blessings."

"I plan to do that. Hope that she'll agree. But I meant, what about you? I mean, other than receive a medal of honor for walking away from this, and avoiding nosy reporters from the Daily Prophet for the next few weeks after dumping one of the most eligible bachelors-"

"You mean to say, _I_ was dumped," I restated, emphasizing myself as the innocent party. I batted my eyelashes and waited for Oliver to laugh or make some witty comment. Instead he brushed it off with genuine concern.

"Mutual understanding. Honestly, Katie, I want you to be happy. I don't want to leave here wondering if-" he stated firmly, trying to reassure me that he still cared for me deeply, but I knew that already.

I leaned up and kissed his forehead softly. "I plan to find myself at the bar in the near future, but I will be fine. I was going to take a long vacation. Portugal is supposed to be quite lovely."

And that was the end of that. Before we even realized it, the hired cab pulled up and Oliver said his goodbyes. He hugged me tightly before he jumped into the backseat of the car. I closed the cab door to the sounds of my mother shrieking and running down the stairs of the church to me. Angelina, my father and I ignored my hyperventilating mother, as I linked arms with the two of them. Together we waved off the groom, as he sped towards Heathrow to catch the love of his life.

"I suppose we should inform the guests," I smirked while Dad chuckled softly. Angelina led Mum into the church and sat her down in the bridal suite, while my father led me towards the church doors.

"Dearest friends and family," I began, sounding quite composed despite what my situation would suggest. "I'm sorry but there seems to be a slight change in plans. You see, there won't be a wedding after all. But I would like to invite you all to the banquet hall 'round the corner where the reception will be held. Please enjoy yourselves. I hear the chocolate fountains are positively delightful."

That was my speech. Unlike my favorite movie, there would be no debonair former flame swooping in to save the day and claim the bride as his own. Cary Grant wasn't feeding me lines; I had the misfortune of having to fend for myself.

I braced myself for the shocked whispers and the slight murmur of the gossip-mongers. Slowly the crowd came to life, as I watched people turn to their loved ones and discuss this sudden change in events. Perhaps I should've added that all gifts would be returned; perhaps that would erase some of the confusion and tension in the church, but at that moment, all I wanted was a bubble bath.

"So what now?" Angelina asked as she linked her arm with mine. I hadn't even realized that the bridesmaids had abandoned their post immediately upon seeing me begin my speech. Angelina and the two bridesmaids were now positioned beside me awaiting further instruction. Somehow my father had the groomsmen helping him usher the guests towards the reception hall

"Not really sure," I answered. "Maybe Portugal sometime in the future. But I don't know what with myself right now."

"Heard there's a party 'round the block," Angelina smirked, as George exited the church to join us on the stairs.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Some girl called off her wedding at the last minute and is throwing a party," Angelina laughed.

"Really? I'm guessing she didn't get dumped at the altar then?"

"No. This girl is brilliant. She set the groom up with someone else."

"And what did she do after?"

"She got drunk with her friends at this party, and then opened all her presents to see how cheap her family really is," George suggested. Angelina rolled her eyes.

"Sounds like a plan."


End file.
